


Frozen Inside

by Castielific



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Homeless Stiles, M/M, Mates, Wolf Derek, dubcon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-01-14 05:08:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1254031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castielific/pseuds/Castielific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orphan and homeless, Stiles finds himself with nothing to look forward to but a life with a beast that seems to think he's its mate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the destiel fic "[Frozen Inside](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7536274/1/Frozen-Inside)" by AlreadyPainfullyGone. 
> 
> WARNINGS: There will be hints of bestiality and attempted rape. Nothing too graphic, but I'll post a warning on each chapter and add the necessary tags.
> 
> I really hope you'll like that one, I've been working on it for months and it's kind of a new genre for me so I'm really nervous right now!

The crisp air is burning the skin of his face as the villagers gather around him. He exhales, lungs aching from the cold and the way he has been hanging from his arms for days. His shirt has been ripped, exposing his too thin body to the villagers who point at him and whisper to each other.

Autumn has been hard on Stiles.  
His father has been dead for six months now, leaving him with nothing but debts. Missus McCall has been nice enough to let him live with her and her son for a while, but she barely has enough money to feed two mouths, let alone three. Stiles never wanted to be a burden, to take away the food from his best friend. So he ran. He left the McCall family with only a note and the few dollars he’s been able to make at the carpenter shop, swiping up wood dust and cutting wood. He travelled with only a flask of water and the clothes on his back, searching for a new village, somewhere where he could start a new life.  
Sadly, every village ended up looking the same to him. In none of them was anyone willing to offer a job to a sixteen years old boy without any crafts and too weak to do any hard labour.  
Sure, Stiles knew how to read. He spent most of his childhood reading books. He was smart, but being smart was only good if you had the money to get the diplomas attesting of it. In small villages, nobody cared about books. Nobody cared that Stiles could read, write and recite whole verses of authors that villagers probably never even heard of.

Nobody cared, full stop.

After two weeks of travelling through village after village, asking for a job at any shop he could see, Stiles’ feet were too hurt to go on, his stomach too empty to give him the energy to walk any farther.  
So, he settled into this town. Silver Town.

He managed to survive in the streets of Silver Town for nearly a month before the baker caught him stealing a loaf of bread and handed him to the authorities. Sadly for Stiles, theft was getting more and more common in Silver Town and the town council thought it was time to become more severe on the issue.  
He ended up being the example.Stiles had never had good timing.

He was left hanging from his hands for three days, in the town square, the word thief written in coal on his forehead.  
By the end of the first day, he was so cold that he couldn’t even shiver any more. He passed out in the middle of the night, convinced that he would never wake up. He hadn’t eaten anything in nearly a week and the November weather hadn’t been forgiving, his light shirt and pants wasn’t protecting him from it. A couple of kids stole his shoes on his second day in town, and he should have taken that as a sign.

He’s woken up by a slap on his cheek and he’s so surprised that he’s not dead that it takes him a moment to realize he’s not in heaven. If anything, this looks more like Hell.  
A man with no hair and dark skin is holding his wrist, checking his pulse. His hand is warm and Stiles tries to balance a little forward, seeking the warmth of another body. He cringes when it pulls on his painful shoulders, and the rope against his wrist digs a little more into his skin.

“I told you to leave him alone,” a harsh voice says from somewhere on Stiles’ right. He doesn’t have the force to turn his head in that direction. He doesn’t need to. This is the voice that chose this fate for him, the voice of the man that proclaimed him as a criminal and chose him as an example to dissuade theft.

“I do hear your words, Lord Mayor Argent, but I did make a vow to respect the words of Hippocrates first and foremost,” the man before Stiles says, kneeling in front of the young boy to check his feet. “I understand you chose this young boy to represent your fight against thievery, but unless you decide to instill a death penalty against bread robbery, it would be wise to let him go, sooner rather than later.”

“I am not letting a thief run free,” the Lord Mayor responds loudly, conscious of the curious crowd having gathered around them.

“The boy will die if you don’t.”

Lord Mayor Argent seems ready to protest, but closes his mouth, looking at the people around him as they make an outraged sound and start whispering between them.

“I can’t let a thief be freed without a sentence,” he insists with a glare toward the physician watering the prisoner. Stiles lets the water fall down his chin. He wants to drink, but his throat hurts too much to swallow and he thinks even water would make him sick.

“Maybe we could reduce the remainder of his sentence?” A man standing next the Lord Mayor suggests, a little reluctantly. He has light hair and his deep blue eyes are looking at Stiles with something like compassion…or pity, maybe. Probably.

“And what do you suggest? Putting him in prison? Where he will be lodged and fed on our villager’s money? It is what he has been seeking from the start and I refuse to offer a thief his wishes,” Gerard Argent exclaims loudly, receiving an approving nod from the villagers for his logic.

“If you don’t want to burden yourself with his fate, then maybe you should let him go. I think this young man will remember this lesson. Won’t you, boy?” the physician asks.

Stiles nods as best as he can, moaning when just a little movement makes everything hurt.

A relative silence follows and Stiles can feel many pair of eyes looking at him. He’s glad he doesn’t have the power to look up to see the judgement and pity.

“All right. I’ll let him go,” Argent announces. Stiles feels his heart accelerating in his chest at the idea of freedom. He’s not sure if it’s elation, or fear of getting back to the life in the streets. “This evening at sun down, I’ll personally escort the thief out of this town where he shall never set foot again.”

“He won’t survive a winter night alone in the forest,” the physician retorts, outraged.

“You asked for his freedom, I’m giving it to you, Doctor Deaton. If you had more conditions, you should have proposed them before I gave my verdict,” the Lord Mayor sneers, visibly proud of himself.

 

********************************

They didn’t just escort him out of the town, the lord-mayor claiming that he doesn’t want a death body on his doorstep, they take him deeper in the forest and dump him from a horse, barely stopping, before galloping back from where they came from.

Stiles lands with his face in the light snow that has started falling. He turns onto his back and looks at the sky, wondering if he should even bother getting up. Doctor Deaton fed him, took care of his wounds and damaged shoulders, even let him wash, but the sad look on the physician’s face had let Stiles know that he didn’t think it would do much.

A howl echoes around the forest, impossible to pin-point, and Stiles wants to laugh. Even if he was to survive famine and hypothermia, he would end up as a pack of wolves’ meal.  
A tear burns a trail along his cheek and he reflexively tries to wipe it away with his forearm, only managing to get snow in his eyes. He blinks against the burn for a moment, before closing his eyes as it only brings more tears.

When he opens them, he lets out a scream.

A wolf is already here, ready for his dinner. Stiles honestly thought he would have a little more time.  
The wolf approaches him, nose to the ground and a deep growl getting louder and louder every time Stiles moves, trying to discreetly scoot back. Stiles ends up sitting in the snow, his back against a tree blocking his escape. He can’t breathe any more, he hasn’t got it in him to scream, let alone run. Not that he would stand a chance against a wolf, the beast would catch him before he could take even two steps.

The animal is large, with a deep dark fur and pale green eyes. Stiles realizes that it could only mean death, to be close enough to see the colour of a wolf’s eyes.

He can feel the beast’s hot breath on his face and when the wolf wets its muzzle, Stiles can practically feel the wetness and he whimpers at the flash of teeth that appears as the red tongue gets out. The wolf leans forward, a paw between Stiles spread thighs, and his muzzle is still warm with spit when he presses it to the side of the boy’s neck. Stiles trembles with fear, and reflexively grabs the wolf as he waits for teeth to slash his throat. He jumps, gripping the thick fur of the animal’s side as he feels a warm tongue taste his skin. He sobs his terror and the tongue slides along his cheek, wiping his tears away. The wolf’s face is close enough that he can see the gold speckles in the beast’s eyes.  
Stiles can only think that it’s strangely beautiful before he passes out.

 

**************************************

Stiles wakes up to an environment that is decisively less wet and also warmer than it was when he passed out. The ground is still hard beneath him, but something soft is covering him and he can feel the distinctive warmth of a fire touching his cheeks. He opens his eyes, disoriented,, and sits up in panic.  
He remembers the town, the doctor, and the wolf. He doesn’t remember being brought to this place. It looks like a cave, all rock and moss, only the light of the fire a few feet from Stiles illuminating the place.  
A boy is sitting on the other side of the fire, holding a skewer with some kind of meat on it above the fire. Stiles can feel his stomach growling at the smell of food, his mouth watering as he watches fat sizzling as it touches the flames. 

“It’s almost ready,” the boy says, reminding Stiles that he’s not alone, and he still has no idea where he is. 

The boy looks about the same age as Stiles, though he looks like he’s taller, even sitting down. He’s lean, with light curly hair and big blue eyes. Stiles frowns, remembering the green eyed wolf. Where is it now? How did he survive?

“I’m Isaac,” the other boy says, making Stiles jump as he realizes the teenager got closer and is handing him the skewer. “You can take as many as you want,” he offers with a gentle smile. 

Stiles doesn’t hesitate, ignoring the burning as he takes the meat off the skewer with his bare hands. He has been starving too often to refuse food from strangers. 

“I’m Stiles,” he offers as he chews too big a mouthful of meat. He knows it’s foolish, that he will throw up if he eats too much at once on such an empty stomach, but he hasn’t had meat in months and he wants to appreciate it while he can. 

He can feel Isaac looking at him with wide eyes as he ravages the meat, juice dripping down from his chin and along his forearm. He wipes his face with the bottom of his shirt before offering the other boy a sheepish smile. 

“Thank you,” he says, looking at his empty hands. 

Isaac lets out a laugh before offering him a piece of his own meal and Stiles takes it gladly, finishing it in a matter of seconds. 

“Where are we?” Stiles asks after he drinks a little water from a gourd Isaac offered him. 

“I don’t know,” the other boy shrugs. Stiles raises an eyebrow. “This place doesn’t really have a name. It’s the forest, that’s all, why would we name it anything else?”

“How did I get here?”

“Does it matter?”

Stiles represses a frustrated growl. What is he, a philosopher? Can’t that man just answer the damn question like a normal person?

“There was a wolf…” Stiles begins hesitantly. 

“Oh yeah, that’s Derek,” Isaac says, pointing behind Stiles. 

Stiles reflexively looks behind him, and can’t help but scream, jumping to his feet and immediately falling back on his butt, still too weak to stand up. The wolf has been standing just a few feet behind him – in front of him now - tongue lolling, muzzle covered in blood. He looks terrifying and Stiles sends a quick glance toward Isaac. He’s expecting to see the boy gather a weapon, but he’s chuckling to himself. 

“Derek won’t hurt you, Stiles,” Isaac says once he stops laughing. The wolf lets out a low growl as if he disapproves before trotting toward them and laying on one of the animal skins around the fire. Stiles looks, eyes wide, as the beast starts to chew on a bone he apparently left there. 

“Is he a domestic wolf?” Stiles asks, curiosity making him scoot a little closer to the animal, eyes focused on him. The animal side-eyes him at his question, but doesn’t pay him much more attention. 

“Derek isn’t a domestic anything,” Isaac scoffs. 

Stripping a long morsel of meat from the bone, Derek lifts his head to practically chew in front of Isaac’s face. If it wasn’t an animal, Stiles would have thought it was mocking the other boy…or maybe warning him; there was a lot of long teeth involved. 

 

***************************

When Stiles wakes up a few hours later, everything is dark around him, and the only thing that remains of the fire is the smell of smoke in his nose. He panics as he realises he’s weighted down, he tries to move, but gets stopped by a quiet growl. 

He freezes. The ground is hard beneath his back, and cold, so very cold. Stiles realizes he’s shivering, teeth clacking and goose bumps numbing his skin. Every inch of him is freezing, save for the skin along his left side and stomach. 

He tries to rub his right arm but the growl bubbles up again. 

This time there is no mistaking the source of the sound, the vibrations of the wolf’s throat drums through his stomach and Stiles feels them travel up his spine – making him tremble with fear. 

But Isaac said the wolf wasn’t dangerous, right? So why is it here, pinning him down?

He tries to slide away from the feeling of warm fur against his side, from the wolf’s head on his stomach. Unfortunately, the animal has apparently had enough of being disturbed. It gets to its paws, disturbing the coverings that Stiles realises are draped over him. 

In the dark, under the heavy furs, Stiles can just glimpse the dark muzzle, and he gasps when two gleaming red eyes appear. Stiles freezes as the wolf places its paws on either side of him, leaning its face down, level with his own. 

The wolf sniffs him carefully, then lies down on Stiles’ chest, heavily, and begins to lick his face, the rough tongue moving quickly and efficiently. Its tail whispers over Stiles’ legs, moving lazily. 

The wolf doesn’t seem aggressive in his endeavour, the red in his eyes receding, and Stiles finds himself calming down progressively.  
The warmth of the wolf’s body is seductive enough that Stiles finds it hard to keep his eyes open, even if he’s still slightly shaking with fear. But the beast is so heavy that it prevent him moving much. Instead, he has to lie supine, as his face is gently washed.  
After a while, the wolf huffs out a sound that seems to indicate satisfaction with a job well done, and moves on, getting up and repositions itself under the coverings, licking the hand that rests on Stiles’ stomach. When the wolf moves lower, pushing the tattered pieces of Stiles’ shirt away and lapping at the skin of his stomach, Stiles squirms, trying to gently push the wolf away. 

The wolf nips him lightly and whines quietly, rubbing the side of its face against his belly, making Stiles stiffen with fear. There are too many teeth too close to too many of his sensitive parts for his liking. 

A sound next to his ear makes him look up into the brown snout of another wolf. Stiles feels his stomach twist as the wolf currently nuzzling him picks itself back up onto its feet with a growl. 

The brown wolf, shaggier than the green-eyed one, dips its head towards the ground and its hindquarters thump down onto the ground of the cave.

Stiles tries to move, if only to ball up defensively, but shivers convulsively and falls back to the ground. 

When he next looks up, both wolves are watching him. 

The darker one huffs, circles him, and plums down at his side, snuffling his muzzle into Stiles’ armpit. 

Then the lighter wolf…stretches; a long ripple of muscles that keeps going until Stiles is looking at a naked human crouched on the floor, the boy with curly blond hair and blue eyes sending him a worried glance. 

Stiles promptly loses his grip on consciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Anna E. for her amazing work on this story

For the next few days, Stiles keeps floating in and out of consciousness, sometimes only long enough for Isaac to feed him something because he can’t keep his eyes open longer. Sometimes when he wakes up, he can feel the wolf’s warm presence against his body. Sometimes, it’s lying across from him, chewing a bone as Isaac cooks some meat on the fire. Isaac is always there, forcing him to drink and eat. He helps him to put on new clothes that Stiles has no idea where they come from, but they’re warmer, even though they are too big for his thin frame, so he doesn’t protest.

When Stiles finally feels like he can stay awake after eating his meal, he decides to ask the question that has been going through his mind in every waking moment.

“Are you going to kill me?”

“Why would I do that? I’ve spent the last four days trying to keep you from dying,” Isaac says. “Coming into the woods in the middle of winter, without warm clothes, without food – what did you expect but death?”

Stiles gnaws at his lip, hesitant to confess that he’s a criminal. What if Isaac decides to abandon him? Stiles might be scared of the strange wolf-man, but he’s much more terrified of being alone out there. Here he has food, warmth and company. He doesn’t want to be alone again, like he was in the streets. If his time in Silver Town proved one thing, it was that he isn’t good at fending for himself. Just thinking of being alone has a surge of fear pass through him.

The wolf gets up from where he was lounging next to the fire and stalks over to Stiles, burrowing close to him and licking his cheek. He couldn’t help but freeze, still not used to the proximity of the wolf.

“He won’t hurt you either.”

“Is he…Is he a man too, or is he tamed?”

Isaac looks down at the fire for a few seconds, as if thinking it through. Stiles doesn’t think his question demanded that much reflection.

“He is not tamed,” Isaac says finally. “But he will not hurt you. He… He’s decided that you…” Isaac looks hesitantly at the wolf, still licking long stripes along Stiles’ neck. “That you belong to him.”

Stiles blinks, feeling the continued rough touch of tongue on his face, as the wolf licks him ardently, stopping only to rub its muzzle against his face and whimper. How could he belong to this beast?

Does that mean that this wolf, like the man in front of him, is really a man? Isaac didn’t answer this part of the question after all.

The thought of a man licking his face like this wolf was, deciding that Stiles belongs to him, fills Stiles’ stomach with dread.

The wolf makes a deep sound of discontent, its front paws coming up to press on his shoulder heavily.

Isaac’s face stiffens.

“Derek,” he says, a warning, but one that doesn’t seek to command, rather, to question.

The wolf turns its head and whines at the man.

Isaac gestures at the cooking pot in the corner, that still holds the remnants of broth.

The wolf dips away from Stiles, pattering to the hole in the corner of the dark den, the only source of light, and scrabbling up a short tunnel.

“He’s gone hunting, for you,” Isaac tells him. “He brought you all the food you’ve had these past few days…he cares for your welfare. From what I’ve gathered, he has cared more for you in a few days than any human must have cared for you in a long time,” he says defensively at Stiles’ expression.

“So he _is_ a man.”

Isaac looks saddened, looking at the fire instead of Stiles’ eyes.

“I can’t speak for what he is now…but he was once a man, with reason and thought like any other.”

Stiles realises that this boy is probably mad, driven so by the wild nature and the isolation. Perhaps, he was driven from his own village, and fell to this…fable, to comfort himself. Maybe he’s adopted an abandoned wolf pup, and trained it as any man would train a dog.

“You think I’m insane,” Isaac says, shrewd eyes taking in Stiles’ uneasy posture.

“What you’re asking me to believe is insane.”

“You saw me change, change from a wolf into the man you see before you. Derek and I are what we call werewolves, sometimes men, sometimes wolves. I have been one for most of what I can remember of my life, and Derek was born like this. So was his father, and his mother.”

“Where are they now?” Stiles can’t help but ask. So far, he has seen one wolf and may have hallucinated a man changing into one, and that isn’t enough for him to believe it.

Isaac casts his eyes down again, sorrow painting his face.

“They died many years ago. I was just a boy at the time. My mother died giving birth to me and my father blamed me for it,” Isaac swallows loudly, hesitating a moment before soldiering on. “He was a violent man. I wasn’t older than a toddler when he beat me a little too much. He knew that he wouldn’t be able to hide me, that I probably wouldn’t survive without a physician’s treatment and people would see what kind of man he was. So he abandoned me in the woods. Just a little kid, dying and alone.”

Stiles wants to say something, because this is such a tragic story, but Isaac seems determined to finish uninterrupted.

“Derek’s father found me. He brought me to his family. I was too hurt to survive as a human, so they offer me the gift of the bite.”

“What is that?”

“Certain shifters, we call them Alphas, can offer their powers to humans, make them into wolves. We run faster, are stronger and heal faster. They saved my life.”

“What happened to them?”

“They were exposed. Once people discovered what they were, some of them decided to hunt them down like they were animals,” Isaac says with disgust. “One of them, a vicious huntress, killed them all. Only Derek and I managed to run away. I was only a kid, and he wasn’t older than us now. We hid for a long time. He’s always been like a brother to me. Kind and caring. But after we lost everyone, his rage started to consume him. Made him different. He found the woman responsible for our family’s death four years ago.”

Isaac stays silent for a few seconds and Stiles respects his silence.

“Derek has remained a wolf ever since the day he killed that woman. By now, I doubt he remembers much of what it is to be human. Perhaps it was too painful, to be a man without the fire of revenge to stave off his grief.”

“I am…truly sorry, for all that has happened to you,” Stiles says sincerely.

“If you’re sorry, then you won’t leave us,” Isaac says.

Stiles balks at that.

 “I can’t stay here! You’re both… I can’t live in the wilderness, like an animal.”

“Then leave, right now. And die,” Isaac says brusquely. “That is your only other choice. But if you leave, it will break Derek. He’s drawn to you, as his mate, his partner for life, and if he loses you, then he truly has nothing.”

“He will have you.”

“I am not the world to him,” Isaac tells him, and Stiles can hear the silent ‘not anymore’ that is implied.

“You want me to stay here, and…” Stiles flushes. “Mate with an animal.”

“Be his,” Isaac says. “That’s all he wants. Or, all he’ll want once I explain to him the impossibility of anything else. He will settle, for having you be his.”

“And what about me? I’ve escaped death, more than once…for this? For nothing, life in a hole in the ground...”

“You will have him,” Isaac interrupts. “For the rest of your life. Love, devotion, protection, care. All of which you are solely lacking,”

 

***************************

Stiles is sitting on his makeshift cot – it’s really just a fur on the ground – hugging his knees as he looks at the exit of the cave. It’s a tight tunnel that the wolves crawl though to get in and out. He has noticed that Isaac always changes to his wolf’s narrower form to pass through it. Stiles is pretty sure he could squeeze in - he’s thin enough - but he wonders how Isaac and Derek got him into the cave in the first place. Did Derek drag him here all the way from where they met in the woods? it couldn’t have been easy, but Stiles probably wouldn’t have survived if Derek’d had to go back to get help from Isaac in his human form.

Stiles shakes his head, reprimanding himself as he realizes he’s trying to humanize Derek, make him into a ‘person’ who went to great length to save his life.

It might be true, but Derek only did it for himself. He saw something he wanted and did his best to get it. It wasn’t a good deed, it was instinct. Mating instinct – and Stiles still can’t think of that word without flinching.

The more he looks at that tiny entrance of the cave, the more he feels like a prisoner. He knows Isaac is just outside. If he wanted to go, would Isaac let him? And if Isaac let him, would Derek? The wolf could find him easily thanks to his senses and would he really let Stiles go?

Go where? To what?

Where would Stiles go? He has nothing, no one. Outside of this cave, he was no one. Does he really want to go back to a life of misery and famine?

He doesn’t want to be a prisoner, he doesn’t want to be an animal’s chew toy, but he doesn’t want to go back to his old life either. And really, what other option is there for him?

He freezes when the wolf slides out of the tunnel, padding toward him with a dead rabbit clenched in its jaws. There’s blood on the wolf’s muzzle, snow in its fur, its eyes are intent, bright green and faintly reflective.

Could this be his life now? Waiting for an animal to provide for him?

The wolf trots forwards and drops the rabbit into Stiles’ lap, its head lowered modestly. Then the beast looks up at him, tail waving lazily, as if expecting some kind of praise. Stiles touches the rabbit with the tips of his fingers. Its fur is soft, so very soft, and the animal is still warm.

He looks up into Derek’s eyes.

Derek growls softly, his ears pricking up, and Stiles quickly looks down.

He feels the wolf come closer, and slowly utilises the only piece of advice Isaac had had time to impart to him. He lies down carefully, the rabbit still in his lap. With one hand he slowly eases the skins covering him aside, exposing his stomach in its thin, baggy shirt.

Derek huffs approvingly, nosing Stiles’ stomach the way Isaac had told him that he would. It’s a gesture of submission, and one Isaac uses himself to appease his adoptive brother. However, Derek quickly snuffles lower, curiously licking at the trail of fine dark hair on Stiles’ abdomen. He blushes fiercely, and attempts to cover himself without thinking, one hand coming up and batting against the side of Derek’s muzzle.

The wolf rumbles softly, and noses at him again, reminding him just who is at whose mercy.

Stiles lies still, afraid and ashamed, as Derek tests the springy, soft hair against his damp nose, then with the tip of his rough tongue. He explores lower, where the hair grows thicker and longer, and there’s a strong, potent odour of male skin and virility.

Stiles closes his eyes, his face burning against the chill air, and fights the rising tears that creeps through him. He has never been touched in these places before.

This then, is somehow too much – too much fear, and intimacy that he does not want in these strange circumstances. There is a wolf, scenting his skin, and beyond that wolf, behind its features, is a man just like him.

A strangled sound of fear escapes his throat before he can stop it, and to his surprise, Derek jerks away. The wolf looks at him for a moment, eyes huge and head tilted to the side before slowly approaching him again. Derek lies down over his bared skin, tickling it with his soft belly fur as he covers him with a soft whine.

Looking into Derek’s eyes, Stiles is surprised to find worry there.

He raises a hand, unsure what his intentions are, and then exhales sharply as Derek butts his head against his palm. He rubs his fingers behind Derek’s ears, and the wolf rumbles happily, its tail lashing.

“What are you, really?” Stiles murmurs. “An animal, or a man who just walks as one?”

Derek looks at him, eyes narrowing, though he continues to rub against Stiles’ petting hand. He has the look of a man knowing he is being discussed, but in a foreign language that he can barely understand. The tone, more than anything, seems to be what communicates Stiles’ meaning.

Stiles sighs, and slowly eases away from the wolf, picking up a skin to wrap himself in, taking the rabbit in one hand. He looks into Derek’s confused eyes.

“Thank you, Derek.”

The wolf barks excitingly and trots ahead of him to the cave’s entrance, glancing back to make sure he’s following.

Stiles slips his feet into the battered moccasins that Isaac had bought him, slippers of skins decorated with dyed porcupine quills, now faded and aged. Everything that Stiles wears now used to belong to Derek, when he’d been a man.

What could possibly have happened to the strong, powerful  man whose clothes he now wore, that made him want only to live his life as a wolf? Stiles has lost both his parents, he knows how deep the pain can go, but he has never wished his humanity away. Even if he had a choice, he would never choose to be an animal, even over the lowest form of human being he has become.

Derek waits for Stiles to enter the tunnel first. He’s lucky to be so thin now, a few months back he’d have no chance of getting through the hole and out into the air. He has never been very hefty, but he used to have more muscles from helping people with their chores around town.

His dad used to be a Sheriff, everybody knew and loved him, and everyone used to ask him for help, so Stiles always volunteered relieving his dad when he could. But where were all those people when he needed help?

Stiles crawls a little forward and Derek scuffles out behind him, nudging his buttock as Stiles freezes in the mouth of the cave, feeling cold air on his face, and snow under his searching fingers. Stiles slides out into the freezing cold of the forest, bundling the fur around him closely. Out in the open, he is suddenly reminded of just how small he is in comparison to the wide, strange country. The light is stunningly bright as it glances off of the snow, blinding his eyes after the relative darkness in the cave.

Isaac is sitting on a trunk, using it as a makeshift bench as he cooks some kind of broth over a fire. Stiles hands the rabbit off to Isaac, who takes his knife and begins to skin it straight away.

Stiles sits down on one of the fallen trunks and hunches up against the cold. He’s freezing, but he’s been locked up for too long and he wants to enjoy the fresh air a little longer. Derek trots over and clambers awkwardly up onto the log as well, hind paws slipping on the icy bark as he tries to balance and raise his head higher than Stiles’ in a show of dominance.

Isaac continues to skin the rabbit, then cleans the offal from the small creature, dropping it into the snow. Derek abandons his perch to snatch up the meat without hesitation. He is the Alpha, so he eats first.

Derek patters over the frozen surface of the snow, climbing back up beside Stiles, nudging against his side and snuffling at his face with his bloodied snout. Stiles makes a disgusted face, but stops his rebuff when he sees Isaac worried look on him. Derek seems pretty big on the whole dominance thing and Stiles knows he should avoid thwarting him. But when he sees Derek ready to go back to nuzzling and licking him, Stiles holds up his shirt sleeve to his mouth, wets it, and pulls it over his hand to wipe Derek’s muzzle.

Derek turns his face this way and that, allowing Stiles to clean the rabbit blood from his chops and neck, his tail waggling behind him before he seems to think back and stop it. Stiles can still see it twitching, and tries not to see what he is doing as grooming the wolf. That’s not what’s happening here. He just doesn’t want rabbit blood all over him.

When he’s finished, Stiles can’t help but think about what it tells of him that he got used to responding to this beast’s whims so fast and without much resistance. A wet tongue gets him out of his contemplation as Derek decides to reciprocate by lapping daintily at Stiles’ red and frozen nose. Stiles stays still and lets him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: In this chapter Derek tries to "mount" Stiles without his agreement, so be warned about attempted rape and bestiality.

A few days later, Isaac tells him that they have to move to their summer place. This cave was never meant to accommodate a human, entry too narrow and ceiling too low. Neither of them mentions the fact that Stiles might not stay as they assemble their meagre belongings on the pallet.

They carry the pallet together, Derek alternating between leading them, circling them and scouting at their sides. The snow, fresh fallen, squeaking beneath their feet, and Derek’s paws patter on the icy surface.

The summer place is a cave in a cliff a few miles from their winter place. The cliff, part of lower range mountains, was clad in creepers and vines in the summer, Isaac explained. In winter it was more exposed to the elements, but somewhat warmer than the other cave, and easier for men to live in, rather than wolves.

They arrive - not before time in Isaac’s opinion - covered in snow and swaddled in furs. Climbing up to the opening of the cave takes a good while, mostly because Stiles is not fit enough to climb well, and the way is perilous with ice. Isaac ends up hauling him along with a piece of fraying rope, telling him where to put his feet and where to grasp the rock. With the pallet strapped to his back, Isaac had been moving slowly. Derek had been scrabbling behind them, back legs skidding, front paws clawing at the rock, face serious as a sharpened icicle, despite the ridiculous clumsiness of his limbs.

Outside the cave is a ledge, and on it is a short wall of stones slathered in mud and stuck together. It sits in the shadow of the cave entrance, invisible below, and was built by Isaac to keep the elements out.

Once inside, Stiles shrugs off his snow spotted furs, looking around the room. This cave looks more like a home than the other did. On one of the walls, kitchen supplies are hanging. Old pans, a knife sharpening stone and a collection of knives, some looking hand made. There is a hole in the centre of the floor, for a cooking fire. Stiles wonders if Isaac made all that. He must have been nothing more than a child when they first moved here. Maybe Derek did it. Maybe he was still human then. A man trying to build a home for his little brother. 

“This is where you live?” He asks, still exploring the place.

“In summer,” Isaac says gruffly. “I’ll get a fire going, to warm us.”

“I didn’t mean to offend…”

“I don’t really care,” Isaac mutters.

Stiles dips his head and walks to the fire pit, finding some logs and sticks piled beside it, left in readiness before the winter, a pair of flints sit in a clay bowl by the fire. Stiles assembles the dry tinder and wood into a neat stack.

“I can do it,” Isaac tells him.

“I’m used to it.” Stiles strikes the stones deftly and sends sparks into the tinder, stirring it gently and creating a small cluster of yellow flames. Scott and Stiles used to camp on the woods just outside of town, pretending to be living in the wild – and that the Sheriff didn’t come and check on them every coupe of hours. How ironic is it that it is his life now?”

Derek comes to sit beside Stiles, nudging up against him, rising up and planting his paws on Stiles’ shoulder, forcing him to lie down so that Derek can curl up against his stomach and lay his head on Stiles’ chest, letting out a humph of air that stirs the fire, making it leap and dance. Stiles feels like he shouldn’t be letting himself be lead like that, but truth is that he’s tired and Derek is warm and comforting against him. He wonders when the wolf stopped being terrifying.

Isaac turns away from them, unpacking the pallet and breaking it down for firewood. He makes up a large bed of furs and trading company blankets of scratchy wool, then pauses, looking uncertain as to what he should make of his own sleeping arrangements.

Derek sits up and woofs at him, twitching his head back, effectively beckoning Isaac over. Isaac follows Derek’s direction, and comes to sit beside Derek and Stiles. After the wolf lies down and whines softly from Stiles’ lap, Isaac lies down too, beside the fire, and Derek squirms away from Stiles to lie between the two men, lapping lazily at Stiles’ cold cheek. Isaac lies against Derek’s back, and his brother rumbles softly, breathing gently.

 

********************************

 

Stiles, despite himself, begins to get used to his new life.

His father and he used to live above a blacksmith’s, in a place that always smelled awfully smoky, cold, damp.

But he once knew a better life, a better home. They used to have a real house when he was a kid,and his mother was still alive. He’d had his own room and it’d always smelled of delicious food because his mom could make the best plates from scrap. They’d had a garden, where she would plant aromatic herbs and vegetables.

After his mother died, his dad had had to sell the house to pay the physician’s bill. Stiles never understood why they had to pay a doctor when he didn’t do his job. His job was to save her, he shouldn’t be paid for failing them.

When he had lived in the street, he’d always be cold and his clothes had been damp. He used to huddle in a corner, using an old horse cover he once found in a puddle of mud. It smelled like horse shit, but it had protected him from the rain.

Life with Isaac and Derek is nothing like any of his former way of living. Their life is bare and hard, Stiles has to work. Skinning the rabbits Derek brings to him, lighting fires, gathering wood and cleaning their home. He helps Isaac as best as he can, and washes in freezing ponds when he absolutely must.

At night, they sleep together under their skins, and Stiles, who has never had to share a bed – except on a few sleepover with Scott when they were kids – quickly grows to appreciate the warm weight of Derek and Isaac in bed.

Derek is a strange new presence in his life. Stiles has never had a girlfriend, and he never really thought of having a boyfriend. He had a crush for most of his childhood, but the notary’s daughter never looked at him twice and he never really minded that much. In his head, they were going to get married one day, he would just have to wait. That was how it was supposed to happen, and he never sought anyone else’s attention, even when he lost everything and realized that Lydia would never be a mendicant’s wife.

But Derek. Derek had stolen him from the jaws of death, and now seemed secure in the idea that Stiles was his. His mate.

The idea scares Stiles, scares him more than death had.

So, they live in an uneasy balance, where Stiles tries to pretend that Derek is just a cherished pet even if he has to acknowledge Derek’s authority over both himself and Isaac.

But there’s a terror in his stomach, whenever Derek touches him, that someday the wolf would want more from him. Derek is driven by his instincts and his instincts are telling him that Stiles is his mate. One day, he will want more than companionship from Stiles. He can’t do it, just thinking about it is terrifying enough. So when that day will come, Stiles knows that he will have to leave. He just isn’t sure that he can.

This is his life now and it somehow is better than he believed he could wish for a few months ago. He has food and companionship here, and he isn’t sure he wants to leave anymore.

The day Derek attempts to move on him, changes all of that.

Isaac is away, on a trip to gather firewood and winter provisions – wild roots and herbs to make soup and stew with. Stiles is lying on the furs, his clothes drying on a shaky wooden rack by the cave’s opening. He has only two sets, and one is wet while the other is torn down the centre from an altercation with a thorny bush.

Stiles had wrapped himself in a blanket when he’d lain down to sleep, and grudgingly allowed Derek to lie at his side. He had given up trying to gain privacy from Derek – the wolf follows him everywhere.

He’s dozing on his front when Derek takes the furs in his jaws and pulls them aside, then starts worrying at the blanket and pulling it away, making Stiles twist, cold and naked.

“Derek, what are you…,” Stiles mumbles lazily.

He’s pinned to the fur under him in a split second. The moment the furry bulk hits his back, he starts to struggle, but Derek nips at the back of his neck and growls softly, making Stiles freeze. Apparently satisfied with Stiles’ submission, Derek wriggles against him and Stiles shivers.

“Derek, you can’t do this, this isn’t right,” Stiles says softly, knowing better than to try to defy Derek’s authority. Derek growls in answer, and shifts into position, mounting Stiles stubbornly. Stiles panics, trying to buck to get him off. “Derek, get off of me!”

The wolf bites his neck harder at his tone, claws digging painfully into his side and Stiles forces himself to calm down.

“Derek. I’m a man. You can’t do this,” he tries to rationalise. “I’m a man. And I don’t know what you are, but…this isn’t something you can do to me.” His voice is low, soft and scared, trembling as he tries his hardest to appear submissive. “I’m a man, this isn’t how it works.”

Derek whines low in his throat, and his lower body moves against Stiles’, legs trembling and his tail swaying. He bucks, and Stiles cringes.

Then Derek is swept aside, in a chorus of growling and snarling.

Stiles rolls over and into a crouch, pulling a blanket around himself. Isaac and Derek grapple on the floor, Derek’s greater bulk gives him the advantage, and his lips are drawn back in rage, fur standing on end as he pins Isaac to the floor.

Isaac whines desperately, trying to get free with all his might.

Stiles doesn’t even think, he picks up a chunk of the firewood Isaac had left scattered by the door and brings it down against the side of Derek’s head, sending the black wolf sprawling on the ground, blood running from his temple.

He turns on Stiles with whip-like speed, snarling and stalking low to the ground. Stiles drops the chunk of firewood and backs away, legs shaking with fear.

Isaac sits up and howls pitifully, padding up to lie down between Derek and Stiles, belly in the air.

Derek growls at him.

Isaac whines, and then his body ripples until he’s lying on the floor, in human form.

“Derek, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…I couldn’t let you hurt him.”

Derek looks down at him, gleaming white teeth still bared.

Stiles comes forwards, dropping his blanket in the process, he steps around Isaac and kneels by Derek, reaching out gently to touch the quivering and ferocious curve of Derek’s spine.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, exposing his throat, knowing that the best way to calm the Alpha’s temper is to submit.

Derek slowly subsides, his fury blunting its edge in their contrition. He sits down, and after a few seconds he starts to whine, and lays his head on Stiles’ leg, looking up at him and turning his head expectantly to allow Stiles to clean the blood from his already healed wound.

Stiles fetches water and wraps a blanket around himself again before he cleans Derek’s head gently.

Isaac makes sure to stay well away from Stiles, and he offers Derek the whole rabbit that he cooks for dinner, sacrificing his own portion. Derek shares his food in the end and he seems appeased, but Stiles can feel the remaining tension in the air.

He knows that it is far from being over.

 

********************************

The days that follow are filled with unease.

Derek seems chastened by Stiles’ appalled reaction at his attempt at claiming him, physically, as a mate, but at this point, nobody is sure that Derek’s wolf instinct won’t override his human one. As an Alpha wolf, he would see nothing wrong with forcing Stiles to do whatever he wants him to do.

During the day, Stiles starts to talk more to the wolf, babbling about nothing and everything, as if he was attempting to subconsciously appeal to Derek’s human side.

Despite the constant enthusiastic monologue that Stiles keeps on, he has been changed by the attempt at mating. He seems now more aware of the danger he’s in, of the net of confused emotions and desires that Derek had knotted around him the night the wolf had discovered him in the woods.

When he’s not talking to fill the increasingly heavy silence, Stiles tries to avoid contact with the wolf, sending him on errands when he gets too close for the boy’s comfort. Stiles tries to stay away from Derek as much as he can, even if it seems to be an impossible task when Derek seems incredibly insistent of following him everywhere.

Stiles also starts to sleep in his clothes, and never, in fact, removes them anymore, choosing to wash inside his shirt. Even when he needs to relive himself, he waits until Isaac ventures outside, and goes with him to do so.

In short, he’s doing everything possible to remain covered in Derek’s presence, and to never be alone with the wolf when it is avoidable.

He can feel Isaac’s pity, and he wonders if it’s toward him or toward the thing that his big brother has become, the wolf that doesn’t even realize what is happening anymore.

One night, Stiles gets curious and asks Isaac if Derek ever desired another man before he became a wolf. Isaac says he remembers his brother being sullen in the presence of others, that he had always remained separate to other people, only being close to his pack. He can’t remember Derek ever having either a boyfriend or a girlfriend, although he remembers hearing his sisters gossiping about a girl that Derek had met in town, some time before the fire.

Isaac confesses that he has no idea if Derek even realizes that Stiles is a man. He sees Stiles as his mate, it breeds loyalty and love beyond gender.

Stiles wishes that he could think like that, without being limited by gender. Before meeting Derek, he never even considered being with a man. He knew that some people did it, but while he didn’t reject the idea, he has never been attracted to a man.

Stiles bears Derek’s affections as a trial, and he does so without complaint. He copes with their hard way of life, with the demands that their routine places on him, because he knows that the difficulties of this life pales in comparison to the life he would be leading if he left. And, despite his horror at the idea of Derek’s physical attention, he must admit that he does care for Isaac and the wolf.

One night, while they sit around the fire, Stiles can feel Isaac looking at the wolf dozing on Stiles’ knees. He can feel him wondering and reflecting, he can feel that Isaac is planning something and Stiles doesn’t know how he feels about this.

 

****************************

The next day, Isaac deposits a hunk of cold rabbit under Derek’s nose. The wolf looks at him questioningly, since it’s nowhere close to time for dinner yet.

Isaac just points at the rabbit, and tells him that it’s for him.

Derek eats it, but keeps an eye on his mate as he does so.

Stiles has taken advantage of the wolf’s earlier nap to move to the other side of the cave, still cautious of the wolf, and is mending one of his tattered shirts.

Derek looks at his mate as Stiles puts his knees closer to his torso - a sign that he isn’t going to move - before following Isaac further into the cave.

The cave isn’t very big, though, and despite his low voice, Stiles can hear what Isaac is saying.  

The other boy sits down in the storage space of the cave and Derek sits down in front of him, nose in the air as he waits for more food to be given to him. Isaac gives him another piece of meat. He watches as Derek holds it between his paws and rips pieces of rabbit away, chewing.

“I want to talk to you,” Isaac says twice, waiting for Derek to look at him.

The wolf sends him a glance of acknowledgement before going back to his rabbit.

“Derek?”

The wolf snorts, as if to show he is listening.

“It’s about Stiles.”

Stiles hugs his knees tighter against him, knowing he shouldn’t be listening, but that if he tried to get out of the cave to give them some privacy, Derek would undoubtedly follow.

“What you did to him, the other day? You can’t do that again,” Isaac continues quietly, voice firm but gentle.

At the word ‘can’t’, Derek growls warningly. Stiles is surprised; sometimes he wonders how much Derek understands when he speaks, but it seems like he does still understand some English.

“I know. You can do what you want…” Isaac concedes. “But Stiles is human. And right now, you aren’t.”

Derek huffs.

“Stiles is scared. Because you hurt him. You tried,” Isaac hesitates, not willing to use a too harsh word. “You tried to have sex with him.”

Derek stays surprisingly silent.

“Stiles is a man. He’s not an animal, but right now, you are. Animals can’t have sex with humans, Derek.”

Derek does something unexpected then. He lies down, puts his nose on his paws, and his tail flops onto the ground.

He looks for all the world… sad.

Isaac cautiously continues.

“You have been a wolf for a long time. But, if you want Stiles to stay…you need to show him that you are a man. That you understand him. That you won’t hurt him. I need to know that you won’t hurt him.”

Derek whines, low in his throat, at the idea of hurting Stiles.

“I think,” Isaac starts hesitantly. “You want Stiles, the way men want their wives. The way our father was with our mother. I think…you are a man, who desires men.”

Stiles gapes. Was Isaac really having the talk with Derek? Jesus.

“Our lives are-,” Isaac says, scratching nervously his cheek, searching for the right word. “wrong. This is not how we are supposed to live. But I hope you know that you will never be wrong to me. I will always love you. You are my brother. My pack,” Isaac says, voice tight with emotion.

Derek creeps forwards on his belly, and lick Isaac’s hand with the tip of his tongue. Isaac combs his fingers gently over the curve of Derek’s ear.

Stiles’ throat is tight with the tears he can feel at the back of his eyes. Those boys only have each other and it doesn’t seem fair that they should hide themselves and live as recluses just because of what they are.

“If you want him,” Isaac continues after taking a deep breath. “And if Stiles wants to be with you in… in that way,” he says before clearing his throat. And oh lord, Stiles doesn’t need to hear this. “Which he may not,” Isaac adds with a quick glance at who acts like he isn’t eavesdropping, despite the fact that he must be beet red right now. “Then you must be human… and you must be careful.”

Derek tilts his head on the side, confused, and Isaac blushes even redder.

“The way a man is with a man, it is different to how it would work, with a woman,” he explains. “Or so I have come to understand,” he adds, embarrassed. “There’s a way, but…” Isaac hesitates before picking up a stick. When he starts drawing something on the ground, Stiles’ eyes grow wide. “Here. Like this.”

Derek noses at the dirt lines and Stiles feels like hiding under a pile of blanket and never getting out. Isaac draws again, speaking aloud, but Stiles has firmly put his fingers in his ears.

He’s heard enough, thank you very much.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter hasn't been read over by a beta, so I apologize in advance for any mistake you should see. 
> 
> Thank you for all the feedback, I hope you'll continue to enjoy this story.

Isaac starts changing over the following days. He seems restless, like he has a constant itch under his skin that he can’t scratch down. He spends hours on the edge of the cliff, watching chimney smoke disappear into the clouds.

Stiles used to do that too, at first. He used to sit there and imagine the village the smoke was coming from, the life he could have if he was there. It’s only seeing Isaac contemplating it, that make Stiles realize he hasn't done it in a while.

Isaac doesn't sleep with them at night anymore. He sits on the other side of the fire and Stiles can feel his gaze on them as he falls asleep with his nose buried in Derek’s warm fur.

The other boy starts to ask him more and more questions, about the places he has been to, the books he has read, the people he has known. His eagerness makes Stiles uncomfortable, because he can see the envy in Isaac’s eyes, the desire to discover the world.

Stiles gets scared that Isaac is going to leave. He used to stay for his brother, but Derek isn't alone anymore. What if Isaac decides that Stiles can stay with Derek now, instead of him?

 

Fourteen full days after he spoke with Derek on the nature of his relationship with Stiles, Isaac is sitting outside the mouth of their cave, skinning a rabbit, when suddenly he raises his head, as if he heard something. Stiles watches him, anxious, but Derek is still scratching the dirt, oblivious, and Derek would feel it if there was a danger, right?

Isaac sniffs the air and, suddenly, something changes on his face. His eyes flashes golden and in the next second, he’s shifting into wolf form and pacing around their camp.

When he passes in front of Derek, the wolf jumps playfully on him, nipping his tail.  

When his brother doesn't seem to respond to his invitation to play, Derek looks confused. He stares at his brother for a few seconds before he starts sniffing the air too. Suddenly, Derek looks more serious than he ever has, as he raises his head high and approaches the other wolf.

Stiles looks over the exchange anxiously.

Derek looks past Isaac, and out towards the horizon, then steps forwards and nudges Isaac towards the mouth of the cave, trying to push him inside.

Isaac starts whimpering, as Derek growls, and shoves Isaac hard, sending him to the ground.

Isaac looks up into his brother’s eyes, imploring, and even Stiles can see Derek’s attitude changing as he gives up.

They stand and stare at each other for a long while, the wind from the cave mouth stirring their furs. Derek does not blink, but after a while he steps forwards, trotting across the gap between them to press his muzzle alongside Isaac’s, and huff warm air into his fur, his eyes closed. Isaac whines his own goodbye, and changes form, wrapping his arms around Derek tightly, still unable to utter a single word.

He dresses and takes a bundle of his things, as Stiles watches him, appalled.

“You can’t leave me,” Stiles says, equal part panicked and angry. “You are the one who made me stay, knowing what would happen to me!”

“I had no way of knowing that Derek would-,” Isaac defends.

“You can’t leave,” Stiles repeats, voice breaking. “What will happen to me? Did you think of that?”

Isaac lets out a slow breath.

“That… is not something I can concern myself with. I feel responsible for you, and I've tried to make Derek understand, but you have to understand us. The way this works for us, it’s not like it is for your people. Our mate calls, and we go. We have to. I have to. I could no more stay here than you could walk across the ocean. It would go against all of nature’s rules.”

Stiles glares in response.

“And when he rapes me, where will nature’s rules be? Do you think this is how it’s supposed to be? How nature is made? Am I supposed to be raped by a monster?” Stiles rages.

Isaac avoids his eyes, and when Stiles follows his gaze, he finds Derek, standing still as a statue.

“I wish I had died that night,” Stiles spits.

“And I wish my mother had lived, and that my father wasn't… I wished my pack was still here, so that my brother would not have been so reduced that you could fail to see the good in him,” Isaac hisses. “Nature is cruel, and it does not listen to prayers or pleas. You have to save yourself,” Isaac says harshly, before taking a breath to try and calm himself. “The bond between you and Derek is strong, and private… and he will not tolerate my interference for long. I have done all I can with him, but you, you I have to encourage, because it is you who has to reach into him, and find wherever my brother is hiding.”

Stiles looks at him, betrayed and deeply afraid.

“What if there is nothing left to find?

“I know my brother. He is in there, somewhere. And he wishes you no harm,” Isaac assures.

He looks away again, like he’s listening for something.

“I have to go now. I’m sorry, but please, please, do not abandon him. I’ll come back in twenty days, and I will find you, whatever has happened, and help you, though I hope there will be no need.”

Isaac picks up his bundle and sets his eyes once more on the horizon.

When he looks back toward where Derek stood, the wolf has already disappeared.

 

*********************************

Stiles listens to Isaac’s footsteps until all he hears is the wind ruffling the leaves.

The day is chill, and he pulls a fur around his shoulders, covering the rough homespun shirt with it, and casting nervous eyes to the shadows of the cave, aware that Derek might be anywhere.

But Derek does not appear.

Stiles goes to bed and when he wakes up the next morning, he finds himself still alone, and colder that he has been in a long time, used to the warmth of the wolf’s body next to him.

He goes to stand at the cave’s mouth, looking down into the wintry forest and the stark white sky. He could run. But run to where? He will have no more luck now at building a life for himself than he had after his father’s death.

Stiles shivers.

No, running would only end in his death – whether in the woods, at the hands of nature, or in the town.

He does not stop to wonder why he doesn't believe Derek would kill him if he escaped. The wolf would simply force him to return to the cave. There is a certainty in his gut that Derek would never voluntarily hurt him, never kill him. A certainty that the rational part of his mind has yet to embrace, as he still fears a kind of injury from Derek, from his violent, carnal advances.

Eventually, he stirs himself and retreats into the cave. He sets a fire going to boil water and adds some dried plants that Isaac had always used to make a sharp drink. There is work to be done, so Stiles sips his hot beaker as he sweeps the cave with the rudimentary broom, and shakes the furs out.

There is still no sign of Derek, so Stiles checks their supplies and finds a rabbit hanging. He skins it and prepares the meat in a hot pot, searing it before adding water and herbs. At the back of his mind, something tells him that Derek would appreciate the comfort of the familiar, nourishing food, in the face of his loss.

Stiles has never lost a brother before, but he knows loss. He knows how it can become your everything for a while, and how hard it is to come back from it. How important it is to have someone there to help you deal with it.

But Derek doesn't appear when the food is ready, and when Stiles searches for him, he can find no sign of him in the cave.

He isn't sure what to do. Isaac has stressed the importance of allowing Derek the first taste of all food, as well as the best place in their bed, and the warmest seat by the fire. Derek was an Alpha, and that meant he was something of animal royalty. Stiles stands in indecision for a while, his stomach riotous with hunger, before replacing the lid on the cook pot and drawing some skins around himself to keep warm.

He doesn't want to examine the impulse that has him follow a wolf’s every whim whiles he sits hungry, and so he doesn't. Neither does he allow himself to think about what might happen to him if Derek would return.

Or if he would not.

The thought strikes him like stone between the eyes. Perhaps Derek has abandoned him, has gone to follow Isaac, or to shun all people forever. Without Derek, Stiles knows he will perish. He can’t survive alone.

The thought brings him up short.

He could trap rabbits, and find good food in the forest. Now that he has warm clothes and shelter, he really does not need the half-breed wolf men anymore.

Still, he stays convinced that he would die without Derek.

Just as he knows he would die without food, or air.

Stiles takes up his mending to occupy his mind and his trembling hands. He has accidentally ripped his shirt and breech-clout and needs to repair them. But his fingers are clumsy with the needle, and his knowledge of sewing is limited to wounds and leatherwork. He persists, though, as his hands become increasingly unsteady as darkness draws in, isolating him in the round gold coin of the fire’s light.

Derek has still not returned.

Stiles feels his eyes burn and moves from the fire a little. Though he’s used to smoke and terrible lighting, he refuses to link the burning in his eyes with the tightening of his chest.

He can’t, he finds to his consternation, remember a time that he has been without Derek, since his rescue from the woods. Always Derek has been with him, like a shadow. Even when Stiles has stubbornly trailed Isaac so as not to be vulnerable to an attack.

A scrabbling forces Stiles from his reverie, and he looks out into the dark, jumping as he spots the reflective eyes of the wolf. Derek comes out of the darkness, dropping a hare at the fireside and going to the far side of the fire to slump onto the stone floor.

Stiles looks at the hare, unsure what he should do. He’s saved from his quandary when Derek sniffs and raises his head, eyeing the stew pot with interest.

“I made dinner,” Stiles says, feeling foolish without knowing why. Perhaps it is because without Isaac in residence, he is faced with the ridiculousness of addressing himself solely to an animal.

He takes the lid off of the pot, and carefully ladles a portion into a clay bowl. He has forgotten that Derek prefers his meat raw, and seldom eats proper meals with them. Stiles sets the bowl of steaming stew by Derek, and takes his seat once more.

Derek is watching him as though puzzled by everything that he does, but, after a long, long moment of consideration, the wolf begins to lap at the broth. About halfway through the bowl, he looks up, muzzle wet with stock, and looks at Stiles, then at the pot. It is only then that Stiles dolls out food for himself.

Once they have eaten, Derek leaves the circle of the fire’s glow, and retreats to the icy cave mouth, to look out at the forest. Stiles prepares a bed with the aired furs, and stands by it, remembering that it is Derek who usually takes the initiative as to where they should sleep.

But Derek remains at the cave mouth and doesn’t seem to notice that Stiles is cold and tired. So, he slides between the furs, and tries to ignore the ache in his chest, and the burning in his eyes, that has little to do with the banked down fire.

 

The night moves on slowly, like a crow in flight, gliding on an air current.

 

Stiles can’t sleep. He’s cold, and he can’t find a comfortable way to lie and rest his head on the furs. His eyes stray, without his permission, to where Derek lay by the cave mouth, his dark fur visible, illuminated by the moon, ruffled and snatched at by the wind. Stiles can hear rain spattering on the stone, and the wind almost howling out in the dark.

“Derek,” he calls, without thinking.

The wolf doesn't move.

Stiles clutches at his courage like a handful of wet clay.

“Derek… it’s cold. Come and sleep.”

Still, Derek does not move from the cave mouth.

A high pitched, long, terrible sound issues from the darkness and Stiles realizes that it’s coming from Derek. A lone wolf call that makes the hair on Stiles’ neck stand up, his eyes well and his innards shiver – until it becomes unendurable.

He stands up, dragging a clump of furs and blanket with him, he makes his way to the cave’s mouth. The floor is slick with rain, and the chill of the wind is terrible, but not as terrible as the heart-sore howl coming from Derek’s mouth.

Stiles touches Derek lightly, and the howl dies into a soft whimper, bitten off in a huff. Derek lies down, as if exhausted, too tired to fight or take umbrage at Stiles’ intervention. Stiles puts the coverings over Derek, spreading them carefully before sliding in and curling up. The chill is terrible, but Derek’s fur is warm, if speckled with rain. The wolf’s body is loose and limp, and Stiles can feel Derek’s despair, his loneliness, more sharply than if Derek had had a human tongue to utter such sentiments.

He lays his arm over the wolf’s bulk, and listens to Derek breathe.

Both of them are asleep within heartbeats.

 

************************************

 

Derek’s aloofness continues for a further eight days, and Stiles, despite his better nature, is almost mad with loneliness by the end of the second.

He had not realized until then, just how much he had valued Isaac’s company. Out of the loneliness of the forest, there had been only Isaac to converse with. Limited though their conversation had been, it had been as valuable as fresh water on a long, starved voyage.

Now, Stiles has only Derek, and Derek does not speak, does not even look at him.

Stiles watches for three days as Derek disappears from the cave, going out into the woods to do God knows what, leaving Stiles alone.

At night, Derek lays down at the cave entrance, leaving it up to Stiles to crawl from his bed, where he might have been for hours after darkness, waiting for Derek’s return. The wolf shows no sign of acknowledgement when Stiles comes to him, bringing furs to cover them both, like a maiden going to her marriage bed.

He cooks food for himself and for Derek, not daring to touch the food until Derek is there to take the first serving. Derek no longer brings rabbits or hares, having seemingly either exhausted his supply, or run out of the will to hunt. Stiles makes do with vegetation and dry stores. But these are not plentiful. His body feels practically starved, and Derek does not look much better. The cold seems keen to whittle them down to their bones.

At night, in the exposed mouth of the cave, Stiles curls up, trying to keep himself warm and covered by the blankets and furs. Derek always finds a place, curled against his chest, limp and warm, fidgeting in his sleep and whimpering if Stiles moves far from him. It’s only in those moments that Stiles can believe that Derek recognizes his presence. The rest of the time, he merely pins for Isaac.

By the ninth day, Stiles is tired – tired of being ignored, of being cold and hungry, and alone all day, with nothing to do and no one to talk to.

He takes his bed, such as it is, to the room at the very back of the cave, and makes space for himself to sleep in the relative warmth. As the sun dies down, he eats some thin herb and root broth, and sets himself down to sleep.

He wakes some time later to the sound of frantic yipping.  It reminds him of a dog bothered by its chain, or of one of the strays that the village boys had tormented with sticks and strings of clacking nutshells.

He sits up, feeling the night’s knife-like cold on his skin.

The yipping comes in bursts, changing direction, but never getting closer. Fear traces a finger of ice down Stiles’ spine.

“Derek?” he calls out into the dark, a dark so intense that it blots out the sight of his own fingers not an inch from his face.

A sharp bark snaps through the cave, and he hears clawed feet tapping on the rock, scraping in their furious hurry.

A bundle of heavy, wriggling fur strikes him in the chest, sending Stiles sprawling to the ground. His heart leaps into his mouth, Derek is angry with him for disobeying the non-verbal understanding that they have developed. He must be furious over the insubordination, the usurping of his seat as Alpha.

Stiles brings his shaking hands up to shield himself, at the same time as a hot tongue laves his face, and a wet nose nuzzles under his chin. Derek whimpers against his skin, body constantly shifting and wiggling in an attempt to get closer.

Stiles’ fear over Derek’s anger evaporates, the wolf is not enraged. He’s relieved.

Stiles puts his arms around Derek and presses his face into the fur on top of his head. Derek whimpers, his ears hanging down in sorrow, his body quaking under its coating of fur.

“Did you think I had left you?” Stiles murmurs.

The wolf redoubles its panicked movements, and Stiles shushes him and strokes his hand over Derek’s nose.

“I’m not going to leave. I was just tired. It’s too cold for me to sleep out there again.”

Derek noses him sorrowfully and climbs down from his lap, onto the makeshift bed, lying down and looking up at Stiles with reflective red eyes, like he’s waiting to see if his gesture has been accepted.

Stiles sights and lies back down, letting Derek tuck himself up against his body before he drags the covers back over himself.

In the warm, soft little cave, Stiles runs one of Derek’s ears through his fingers absentmindedly, and Derek wriggles with delight.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles says, the words leaving his mouth as soon as he thinks them.

Derek stills.

“I shouldn't have let this happen, you imagining my departure. I won’t let it happen again, but ” he says, after a short pause. “I need you. Not just to bring food, or to let me stay here but, I need you, so that I am not alone. Without people, I will lose whatever civility I have, and then my sanity.”

Derek makes no comment, but moves closer to Stiles anyway. The boy sighs.

“Is that why you remain… changed, like this? So that you do not want for human company?” Stiles muses mostly to himself. It may be his imagination, but he thinks he hears Derek huff derisively. “I suppose you can’t tell me why.” Stiles transfers his attention to the other ear, stroking the soft fur. “But I’m not a fool, I know there’s a reason, something that Isaac hasn't yet guessed at.”

Derek tilts his head and nips at Stiles’ fingers lightly.

“I don’t even know why I would wish to know,” Stiles sighs. “I just know that I do. And Isaac is under the impression that you and I… That we…” He can’t quite say it. Saying it, voicing it aloud, even to Derek’s dubious intelligence, makes it real. Something he is not prepared to do, not now, not ever.

Derek growls quietly.

“I know,” Stiles mutters. “I know you think this… that my being here means that I’m…” he struggles, “yours, but…”

Where should he begin?

By telling him that life is not as simple as claiming what you want, and keeping it for yourself? That there are rules, moral rules, rules of God and men, that make this impossible, unthinkable? That he doesn't want this. Has never wanted this? That Derek isn't even the same species as him? That Stiles has no way of knowing if there’s anything human left in him beside some residual understanding?

All of this passes through his mind, and Stiles knows that all of it is true. But there is something else as well, something he had not even spoken of to Isaac, and that is what escapes him.

“But I have nothing, nothing for you, and I... I am not a mate; I've never been, to anyone,” Stiles licks his lips, shaking slightly his head. “I’m nothing worth keeping.”

He’s never spoken like this before, hardly dared think like it, but he’s half convinced that Derek can’t even understand him. It’s safer here, than it has ever been for him, to admit that he has no idea what anyone could find in himself. He has nothing to offer, even the clothes he’s wearing aren’t his. He’s not stupid, but he’s not smart enough to be special. He isn’t ugly, but he isn’t handsome either. He’s too thin with too much moles, and he talks too much about things that nobody cares about.

He’s no one and has no brighter future than ending his days alone in a cave, with a wolf that thinks he’s in love with him.

At first, Stiles - lost in the silence that greets his words - is ready to sleep, knowing that Derek has nothing to say, or at least no way to say it.

Then, Derek moves, uncoiling himself and standing with a huff of discontent. Stiles tenses, aware that he may have angered Derek with his rejection. The wolf, however, does not growl or bare his teeth. Instead he makes his way over Stiles until he has his legs planted on either side of Stiles’ torso, his face hovering in the dark over Stiles’ as the wolf lies down on his chest. He touches the soft, barely furred part of his muzzle – his lips, were he to return to his human form – to Stiles’ own lips.

Stiles almost fails to breathe.

Derek tucks his muzzle gently under his chin, and stays on top of him, a weight that Stiles cannot ignore. He reaches up and tentatively rests his hands on Derek’s back, feeling his fingers sift through the coarse outer coat, anchoring themselves in the soft fur underneath.

Derek breathes out, and it almost sounds like a sigh.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, I've been super busy with work and then I went on a road trip. But now I'm going to have a lot of free time until September so I'll try to post more regularly. 
> 
> My beta can't work on this story anymore, so I'm going to need someone soon. If you're interested by betawork, send me a comment here or an ask on tumblr (I really really need someone for this story)
> 
> WARNING: There is some dubcon (verging on noncon tbh) in this chapter. The aggressor stops before there can be any penetration or injuries, but there are unwanted touching and use of force in a sexual context.

_Derek feels warm and comfortable for the first time in days, heavy with sleep. There's hunger in his belly, but he pushes it aside, Stiles has food ready for the morning, he knows that. There's no desperation to the hunger, no edge of starvation._

_Derek's starved before._

_When he was hunting the woman that killed his parents, he'd gone without food for days. He'd slept in icy hollows and under thin coverings of greenery with an aching stomach, cuts and scrapes under his fur. He knew about pain, loss and deprivation. Nature had taught him from an early age._

_Stiles’ rejection had been an entirely new injury, and Derek had felt its sting intensely. Now though, lying in the warm, with Stiles sleeping beneath him, his arms resting on Derek's back Derek felt better. Bonded, and...safe._

_He hasn't felt that way since before his parents died._

_Derek's eyes are closed, his nose twitching as he dozes, soaking up the scents of his surroundings as his ears map out the area around himself and Stiles._

_Wind, rain, trees rattling..._

_Earth, stone, cooking, herbs, roots..._

_Stiles, breathing..._

_Old fur, musty, sweat and skin, sleep..._

_Stiles, warm skin, hair, sweat. Mate..._

_An owl hooting, fox calling, sticks snapping..._

_Stiles, whimpering..._

_Derek starts to wake up at that. Stiles is making a new noise, not a noise of speaking, or one of fear. Not even his regular, deep sounds of sleep. This is a sound Derek has not heard from him before but, somehow, it's familiar._

_A long, soft sound. Stiles’ body moves a little. He’s sleeping, but not soundly. Derek, resting on top of the sleeping man, pricks his ears up and opens his eyes a little. Stiles’ body is warmer than it should be, and..._

_Derek shivers, from his twitching nose to his wriggling tail._

_The smell. The mate smell, intoxicating as it normally is, is ten times as strong now. Deep and dark and rich as autumn soil._

_Derek whines quietly, and Stiles makes the sound again, almost a growl, his body twitching._

_Derek feels it then, the strange, familiar pull like...almost like he's been here before. Stiles’ body moves again, and Derek feels him rubbing against the soft fur of his belly. Only, it's a kind of touch that's new. The touch of...Derek realises, and his blood drowns out the sound of leaves and rain and...everything but Stiles’ breathing, and the sounds, which comes quicker now._

_This is a human thing. A mating thing that Derek remembers; that he's felt and experienced himself. Stiles is...Stiles is ready, accepting him, wanting him. There's no fear in the air, only warmth and the scent of Stiles’ body. The scent of wanting._

_But… there's something wrong with it. With him. Derek realises, in a creeping of his skin, as Stiles’ body rises against his, the heat, the pressing of him intensifying. Derek wants Stiles - but more than that, he wants-._

_It's hard to remember, to think how he used to. But Derek realises what he wants, what he craves right now._

_Hands._

_He needs hands, and lips and skin, and he needs arms and fingers and an organ to match Stiles’ own._

_He needs himself. The self he buried like unneeded clothes, frozen under the soil of his own winter._

_It's as Derek stiffens with impotent desire, frozen in the wrong body, the wrong mind, a shudder going through him – the half forgotten change prickling his skin– that Stiles wakes up._

**************************

 

One moment, he’s sleeping, heavy with heat and shuddering breaths of pleasure, his lower body half shucked of loose clothing, indulging in its meeting with the warmth of a living body. The next, Stiles is abruptly awake, his fear a stench in the air, throwing Derek off of himself, dragging himself from the covers, breeches lost in the tangles of skins and blankets, baggy shirt covering his shameful arousal.

 

He skitters backwards onto the cold stone, leaving Derek sprawled on the cave floor.

Stiles’ skin is warm, shuddering in the cold, his stomach heavy with unfulfilled wanting, the ache between his legs almost as torturous as his own shame. He can barely remember the dream. Had there been a dream? Or just the feeling of the body on him? Derek's body.

The body of an animal.

Stiles feels sick, and his chest feels tight.

It takes him a moment to look through his burning eyes, and catch a glimpse of Derek on the floor. Fresh fear leaps into his chest.

Derek is writhing, legs twitching on the ground, his body jerking roughly every few seconds. His eyes are wide open, mostly white and terrified, his teeth bare themselves, and a horrible, pained sound rips its way out of his throat.

Stiles is frozen, wanting to dive forwards and help, powerless to do anything.

He hears Derek's bones crack, sees sinew rip beneath the surface, and all at once, Derek goes limp, like a child's marionette with cut strings. Then his body begins to grow longer, and Derek's throat produces agonised screams, animalistic and terrified, until a wet snick cuts off the sound.

But Derek's mouth is still screaming, jaws open, eyes staring.

His legs elongate, paws forming hands and feet with awful cracking, snapping sounds, his body warps and twists until he has a chest and neck and hips – the fur and thick wolf skin underneath flaking away.

Stiles had seen Isaac's transformations, and they were almost effortless, but this, this looks like torture and birth and a gruesome death all at once; as if Derek's wolf body had grown over him like flesh growing over a spur of wood stabbed through a man's chest. And now it was being spliced open, flayed away to reveal the man underneath.

The screaming begins again, mangled and gargling as Derek's voice grows in his throat, human and in complete agony. He shakes and sobs and finally goes still as his skin stops boiling, and his limbs stop jerking. Left in a heap on the cold, unfeeling stone.

But he does not go quiet, and his pained whimpers are too much to bear when uttered in a human tongue.

Stiles drags himself forwards, and reaches fearfully for Derek's arm, touching the skin, rubbing gently. Isaac had complained of a cramping of his muscles when he had transformed after a long period of change, Derek's body must be in a kind of shock, he presumes. His muscles knotted and abused by the change.

Stiles rubs Derek's arms until he feels the muscles give, he tends to Derek's knotted muscles, and then shuffles back a little, satisfied now that Derek no longer seems pained, but rather insensible with exhaustion. He picks up a fur, and almost drops it again when a clumsy hand paws at his arm.

He looks down at Derek in surprise, finding the man looking up at him.

"Stiles..." Derek gasps, fighting to escape the grip of exhaustion.

Stiles takes his hand, and tucks the fur over him with the other. He lies down, extending an arm for Derek to lean against.

"Sleep, Derek," he tells him.

It seems that this is all the permission Derek needs, apparently soothed by his presence. His eyelids drop, and he falls into a deep sleep against Stiles’ arm.

Stiles lies awake, and hours later, in the shallow, pale light of the rising sun he finds that he is still looking down on the newly bared face of the man who saved his life, and claimed him for a mate.

And he is beautiful.

***************************

When Stiles wakes up, the morning light playing on the cave wall is the first thing he sees. He cannot for the life of him recall ever feeling this way upon waking. But, his very skin seems to hum with the knowledge that this day, this day is going to be a gift.

Could it be he's forgotten a celebration? An event? In the fraction of a second before he is fully awake, Stiles decides that this strange, soaring feeling in his stomach, must be what the bride and her groom feel on the day of their wedding.

Then, he turns onto his back, looking away from the white light on the dark stone, and finds himself staring into a pair of green eyes. Stiles blinks, disturbed to find Derek leaning up beside him, watching him as if it is the most natural thing in the world. Then Derek's hand moves under the coverings that swaddle them both, and Stiles feels its warm roughness against his belly. His body tenses, and he remembers losing his breeches, remembers his own shame at finding himself undone by a simple dream. He remembers the horrific transformation he had witnessed.

“Derek.”

The other man responds, his eyes clearing at Stiles’ recognition. The hand on his belly moves to press over his heart, and Stiles feels a bare leg press between his own.

It is only then that he remembers that Derek is naked.

Stiles struggles from the bed as quickly as he can, and, wrapping his arms around himself, he looks down at where Derek is lying, an expression of deep confusion on his face. The blankets and skins around him gape in Stiles’ absence, and he finds that he can see all the way down Derek's broad chest, to his deprived stomach, and his sex. A territory that Stiles’ eyes devour despite himself.

He turns away, red faced and shamed, and sees the discarded and crumpled woven breeches on the ground. Stiles snatches up the fabric and turns back to Derek with averted eyes. He drops the clump of fabric onto the bed.

"Here, put these on."

When he hears no answering movement, he chances a look, and finds Derek still watching him, the clothing left untouched.

"Do you understand me?" Stiles says, frustration winning out over helplessness.

"Yes."

Stiles very nearly jumps in fright. He contains the impulse, if barely.

"Then dress."

"No."

Stiles hesitates, his eyes locked with Derek's, and he is filled with the sudden knowledge that, whatever is about to happen, he has no hope of escaping it.

This does not mean that he doesn't try.

Stiles bolts, quick as a threatened deer, and very nearly makes it past Derek and out into the cave proper. But he is not fast enough, and no match for the strength of the hands that catch at his waist, hauling him back and down.

Stiles finds his bare legs spread, knees on either side of Derek's own legs, bared by the slipping of the furs. The skins are bunched beneath him, and Stiles is subjected to the rude brush of fur on his backside. His main focus, however, is on Derek.

He's unprepared for the assault of sensations when they come; the way Derek presses his mouth to the join in his neck and shoulder, sending an array of sudden feelings through him. Neither does he expect the movement of Derek's hands, pushing the ridiculously oversized shirt up, to elicit such a pleasant reaction. The shirt is so baggy that it hangs off of Stiles’ shoulder, and Derek buries his face there, mouth travelling hungrily from throat to shoulder, then lower, laving his collarbone, his chest...until his mouth (deceptively soft for one so strong, for what was once an animal so vicious) embraces the risen nub there. Stiles cannot help the sound that comes from his mouth, a bolt of pleasure, heretofore unexperienced. He finds himself pushing at Derek's shoulder, trying to escape the feeling as good as pure sin, as unbearable as torture. Derek resists, and the answering swipe of teeth over the soft flesh in his mouth has Stiles shaking.

He barely notices when Derek pushes him backwards, laying him out on the rumpled furs and holding him there with the weight of his body. His physical excitement is what jolts Stiles from the daze visited on him by lust, and he struggles once more against Derek's bulk.

Derek holds him down without seeming exertion, and Stiles is reminded of how weak he is in comparison. The other man seems completely unaware of his fear, intent instead on pressing the evidence of his disturbing passion to Stiles’ own rebellious member.

“Don’t hurt me,” Stiles gasps, tears leaking from his eyes as he fixes them on the ceiling. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

Later he will think on this, and recall that he did not ask, 'Stop' or demand 'No' neither did he profess his lack of desire. It takes a moment for Stiles to realise that Derek is no longer touching him amorously and still longer to notice the gentle touch of fingers on his wet cheeks.

"Crying." Derek says softly. "Why?"

Stiles breathes, the air filling his chest. In, out. In, out. But he cannot form words, cannot explain everything that is so very wrong with him. He can't. And the mere thought of Derek moving away from him, hurts like nothing else. But the thought of him continuing to mate him is still more painful.

After looking at him for a moment, Derek lays his head down on Stiles’ chest, and allows his body to go limp. Stiles shakes and sobs and shivers, but he does not push him away.

When Stiles starts to speak, Derek looks up at him, thick eyebrows furrowing and blunt teeth worrying his lip, like he’s concentrating very hard on every word, to understand what his mate is saying.

“Why did this happen?” Stiles says. “I’ve always been good. I’ve helped others, done my best to get an education and been there for anyone in need. But still, I lost my mom, and then life has taken my dad and everything I ever possessed. I have been reduce to stealing or starving and been punished for it. I have almost been put to death for a simple piece of bread. But I survived. I survived and now I’m here, and I still can’t decide if it’s better or worse than my old life. I don’t want to be here,” Stiles confesses, and Derek holds him a little tighter. “I want…a place to call my own, a home and a family again. This isn’t a normal way to live my life. Living in a cave, isolated, in the middle of the forest. Mating with someone more animal than human,” Stiles lets out a shuddering breath.

He’s not even sure that Derek understands what he’s saying; he just keeps his head against him, like he’s listening to his heart more than his words.

“I can’t do this,” Stiles says, brokenly. “I can’t allow this to happen, I can’t give in, I have to…fight this…please.” He starts to move, pulling away, desperation colouring his words, and Derek holds him down, holds him there until Stiles looks down at him, eyes wet. “If I let- If I do this, I can’t ever be normal again. I won’t ever be able to have the life I want. I have to go. I have to make my life better, I have to go back to civilisation…I can still fix my life…I can find help,” Stiles swallows. “There are still good people. People who will help me. There must be.”

“What do they have that I don’t?” Derek asks softly, surprising Stiles.

Stiles looks down. He doesn’t mean to hurt Derek, even though he knows it’s inevitable.

“There are still people I love out there,” he confesses, thinking of Scott and Melissa. He should never have left them. He should never have left his dignity, his need to not be anybody’s burden, make the decision of leaving for him. “I miss them.”Derek seems to think this over, worrying at his lip as words still seem difficult to find.

“But they don’t love you like I do.”

Stiles looks at him, surprised. He was expecting the Alpha to get possessive, jealous. He wasn’t expecting those soft words.

“I will love you, even if you go,” Derek continues. “When you go to be with good people. I will love you. When you hate what I am. I will love you. When you die. I will love you. And when I die, you think I will be in Hell. Then I will go there. And I will love you.”

“I never thought you-,” Stiles starts before the lump in his throat stop him.

Truth is, he never hated Derek. He may have been afraid of him, of what he could do to him, at time, but he never hated him. And he never wanted Derek to think that Stiles would hate him so much that he wishes him to go to Hell.

Derek is many things, but Stiles has never thought him evil.

**************************************

When Stiles finishes wrapping up his bundle, he feels like he can’t breathe any more. He’s never been so scared before.

He knows he can’t stay, knows this isn’t a life that is meant for him, but he wasn’t expecting that it would be so hard to leave it. Derek is still lying on the skins. Still naked and human, looking more vulnerable than Stiles could have ever imagined him. He’s a strong man, with muscles that Stiles could never hope to have and sharp masculine features. But his eyes. His eyes are looking at Stiles with such despair and longing that Stiles can’t look at him without tearing up.

He feels like he’s betraying him, somehow. Derek changed for him, he changed his very own bones to be with him, and still Stiles decide to go.  

This isn’t fair in anyway, but Stiles’ life never has been.

“You could come with me,” Stiles suggests, throat aching from the sobs he’s keeping in.

Derek inclines his head, eyebrows frowned and lips thin, as he observes him. He doesn’t answer though and he doesn’t need to. He’s still so typically a wolf in his reaction that he could never parade as a human. The civilized world is not Derek’s world anymore and will probably never be again.

Stiles tries not to wonder what will happen to the Alpha. Without a mate, without a pack anymore…but Stiles can’t burden himself with this, he shouldn’t because it isn’t his responsibility.

It still make his head and his heart ache because he knows he’s hurting Derek more than he could ever imagine.

He ties his bundle to his back. It’s light, only containing the few clothes he has, and some foods to survive the journey to the nearest village.

“Isaac will be back soon. He said he would come back,” Stiles tries to reassure.

He stamps the ground for a bit, knowing that it’s time for him to leave but not willing to yet, not without a goodbye. But what should a goodbye look like?

He wishes Derek was a wolf right now because he could have patted him on the head, hugged his arm around his neck and let the wolf whines and licks his face one last time. He doesn’t know how to act toward that man that was hiding behind the wolf.

When Derek doesn’t move, lying on his side and drawing pattern on the ground with the point of his finger, Stiles steps forward.

He kneels before the other man.

“I’ll miss you. Still,” he says, ignoring the tears slipping along his cheeks and the way Derek won’t look at him.

He puts a hand on the man’s jaw, stroking his thumb against the rough stumble covering his cheek. Derek’s eyebrows are frowned, the line of his face tense and his gaze hard on Stiles’ right knee, but Stiles can feel him slightly tremble under his hand.

He leans forward, deposing his forehead against Derek’s shoulder, ignoring the way it jerks slightly as if it wants to reject him and keep him there at the same time.   
He stays there a minute, breathing the human scent of his mate for the first time. Derek smells of earth and grass, the smell of the wood, but also something fresh and enticing that Stiles can’t quite identify. He takes a deep breath, savouring the scent one last time before he backs off. He can’t help but deposing a soft kiss against Derek’s temple, closing his eyes when the other man whimper. In the next second, there’s fur against his lip. When he opens his eyes, Derek is a wolf again. He’s expecting to be scent or licked, but still Derek doesn’t look at him. He merely steps around him before trotting out of the cave.

By the time Stiles exits, Derek is nowhere to be seen anymore.  


	6. Chapter 6

The first signs of spring make the wind less freezing, but Stiles still hugs his furs around his shoulders as he follows the steep way down the mountain. He knows Derek is here, walking somewhere alongside him. He can hear a paw sometimes, a pant when the way’s declivity gets tougher. He wonders how long Derek will accompany him, finds himself wishing he will be with him to the end.

He doesn’t acknowledge him though, because saying goodbye the first time was hard enough.

When he stops at night, he hesitates to call the wolf to him, to sleep huddled against him like he’s used to. He knows he has to get use to sleeping alone though. He won’t have any more night with the warm breath and soft fur of the wolf tickling his skin, keeping him warm and safe.

He wriggles all night long, doesn’t find sleep for more than a couple hours. He’s cold and uncomfortable in the night air.

Stiles has been walking for a few hours the next day, when he suddenly realises that he’s not feeling Derek’s presence anymore. He looks around, tries to hear the slightest sound that would prove that his wolf is still here, but there is nothing.

He falls to the ground, heart beating fast as panic invades him. He doesn’t call, he won’t, but he stays there for a long while, hoping the wolf will relent and show himself.

Derek doesn’t and Stiles is unable to move until the sun start falling down.

It’s the first time, he realizes, that he has felt this alone since the death of his father. That he realizes  he would never have been alone anymore has he stayed with his mate.

 

********************************

“Make him move!”

The harsh voice wakes Stiles brusquely, making him sits up. It takes him a moment to gather his bearings. He fell asleep last night, waiting for Derek to show himself. He hasn’t made a camp, hasn’t lay down his skins or covered himself with his furs. He just laid down right where he was.

Which was apparently the middle of a road.

There’s a cart a few feet from him, so close that the horse’s snout is at arm length. A man is kneeling beside him, a worried expression on his exotic face. He smiles gently when Stiles looks up at him, revealing dimples at the corner of his mouth.

“Are you okay, sir?” He sounds worried, but also somewhat mocking.

“Get him away!” An irritated voice sounds from the carriage.

Stiles follows it to a blond man, leaning his head out of the carriage and glaring at him.

“If you may excuse us,” the nice man continues, ignoring the grumpy one. “We have to go and you are sort of blocking our way.”

“Oh,” Stiles says, looking around him. He goes to get up, but forgets to consider the weight of his bag on his back and falls right back on his ass.

The nice man chuckles, offering him a hand that Stiles promptly takes. He shakes it enthusiastically.

“Where are you headed, sir?” The other man asks, curiously eyeing Stiles.

He’s wearing rudimentary clothes, he made most of them himself from animal skin and patching old piece of clothes together. His outfit contrasts with the other mans’s who is wearing nice clothes, full of golden embroideries.

He gasps when he recognizes the blazon on the other man’s vest.

“Are you from House of Whittemore?”

“I sure am, mister,” the man confirms with a proud nod.

“Are you…are you going back to the village?”

“Danny! Just get this mendicant out of the way and let’s go, I haven’t have all day!” Comes the same irritated voice from the cart.

The other man – Danny – send a nervous look toward the cart.

“I’m sorry but we should go now,” he declares, side stepping Stiles and getting ready to get back behind the horse.

“Wait!” Stiles says, panicking. The Whittemore family is one of the most influenced fortunes of his village, it’s where he’s lived his whole life, and it’s where Scott and his mom live.  “Could you take me there?”

Danny throws a nervous glance toward the passenger part of the cart.

“I’m sorry, but-“

“Please! Please, I have been lost for so long and I just wish to go home,” Stiles begs. “I have no idea where I am and no idea which way to go.”

“I-“

“I’ll pay you,” he says before realising that that may be difficult, if not impossible. “I’ll work for House Whittemore for free for as long as you consider my debt for the journey necessary. I’m a hard worker, I swear!”

Danny looks at his hands and closes his eyes for a moment.

“Come on up,” he invites with a grimace that suggest he knows he’ll regret that decision.

Stiles doesn’t leave him time to take back his words though, jumping on the cart and squeezing on the bank beside Danny. The other man sighs a little, shaking his head at Stiles’ grin and enthusiasm, before he grabs the rein and orders the horses to start walking.

*******************************************

To say that Lord Jackson was pissed to discover that there was a stowaway on his cart would be an understatement.

Stiles has to promise to work for two months for free to keep him from calling his guards.

Lord Jackson still screams and belittles him for a long moment and by the end of it, Stiles is just glad that Danny didn’t lose his job because of him.

Jackson stomps off and Stiles sends a sheepish look and a silent thank you to Danny who winks at him. He seems used to the Lord’s temper and like he isn’t scared of him at all. Stiles decide he likes Danny.

*****************************************

Stiles is surprised when he goes through town without anyone recognizing him. They may have not cared about what he had become, but he thought people would at least remember what he looked like. He used to know all of them, and now it’s like he’s a stranger. His father died and he became a nobody to those people’s eyes.

He doesn’t let his excitement get away though, walking enthusiastically toward the McCall’s house. He’s a little ashamed for having abandoned them like he did, but he’s mostly excited to see them again.

He knocks on the wooden door with a grin on his face, he can’t wait to see Scott’s face when he sees him.

The door opens and Melissa McCall appears.

“Can I help you?” She asks with a frown.

Stiles frowns too, because she doesn’t seem to recognize him. She seems to wait for an explanation when suddenly, her eyes go wide.

“Stiles?” She asks, voice broken.

“Hi,” he responds timidly, thrown off because this is nothing like he imagined.

It changes fast though, when she throws her arms around him, crushing him to her chest while saying how much she missed him. Stiles breathes in, relieved and hugged her back as tight as he can. She’s been the closest thing to a mother to him since he lost his own, and he loved and misses her like she was his own blood.

“Where have you been?” She says, tears in her eyes as she ushers him inside. She’s touching his face, his shoulder, tugging a little on his hair like she can’t believe it’s really him.

“It’s a long story,” he responds, not daring to look her in the eyes. He still hasn’t decided how much he’s willing to tell them. About him becoming a vagrant, a criminal, about men that change into wolves and living like a savage. Those are not easy stories to tell.

She doesn’t have time to insist though as a voice suddenly call from behind Stiles. He turns around and his best friend is here, looking at him with wide eyes, mouth open and a little pale from the shock. It doesn’t take long for Scott to react though, and the next second, he’s jumping onto Stiles, hugging him so tight that Stiles can’t breathe for a few seconds. But he doesn’t care about breathing. In this moment, he cares about nothing but the family he’s finally reunited with.

**********************************

First thing Miss McCall does is ushering him to the bathroom. He hasn’t washed in a few days, and hasn’t taken an actual bath with actual soap in months. He gets stuck in front of the mirror though, because he hasn’t seen his reflection in months either and now that he does he gets why Melissa didn’t immediately recognized him.

When he left this house for the last time, he was still a kid. He was just shy of sixteen years old, with baby fat around his cheeks and wide innocent eyes. His hair used to be chopped very short to avoid getting lice.

His father’s death forced him to grow up, but it was nothing compared to a life living on his own. Looking at himself now, he doesn’t see much of the boy he used to look like. His brown eyes seem tired, less bright that they used to be. There are dark hollow under them and they seem too deep in their socket. His skin is paler than it ever was when he used to spend his days playing outside with Scott, and his lips are dry and cracked. His cheeks are hollowed, his cheekbones looking sharp and there are creases around his mouth and eyes from the constant cold he lived in. His hair is longer than ever before, falling just shy of his eyelashes into messy curls. They looks darker too and greasy because the river water is never really clean. He’s got a scar on his right temple from when Derek was playfully chasing him once, and Stiles ran straight into a prominent rock jutting from the cave’s wall.

His shoulders are wider than they used to be. He used to be a pretty lanky kid. Now he feels like he’s taller, and larger. Life in the wild made him build some muscles in his shoulders and upper arms, even though he’s still way too thin to be healthy because you can’t be picky about what you eat when you live in a cave. He hasn’t eaten any starchy food, drink any milk or water that he didn’t have to boil first in months and it shows.

He forces himself to stop looking after a while, because he doesn’t even recognize himself anymore. He left as a kid and he has no idea what kind of man he has become.

********************************

Melissa makes a celebratory dinner for his return, and Stiles is savouring all the wonderful food he missed with great appetite. Tomato. Bread. Potatoes! The McCalls may not have a lot of money, but they know how to treat their guests and Stiles feels like he’s in food paradise.

Scott is having a laughing fit about Stiles greedily stuffing a whole potato in his mouth and nearly chocking on it, when they suddenly hear it.

A howl. So loud the walls are practically vibrating from it. Melissa and Scott freezes, obviously scared by the unfamiliar noise, but Stiles knows better.

This isn’t a menacing sound; this is the sound of heartbreak. It doesn’t last long, maybe a few seconds, but it’s enough to bring tears to Stiles’ eyes.

When it stops, Stiles can’t find the force to eat anything any more.

**********************************

He sleeps in Scott’s bed, the boy is so happy to have his friend back that he wraps himself around him. Scott is warm and comforting; his hair tickling Stiles’ neck, but still, Stiles can’t help but feel like something is missing. It’s not the same. It can’t ever be.  

***********************************

He spends the next couple of weeks washing chamber pots and enduring Lord Jackson's whim. It's no glory, but it's still better than living in the streets. He eats in the kitchen with the maids and cooks, savouring the not-fresh-enough fruits that Jackson's has sent back, the castle is warm, and there are people everywhere to talk to. All the noise is weird after months of near silence, but Stiles rejoice in it, smiling and talking to everyone he sees. He must look like a simpleton with his enthusiasm, but people indulges him good-naturally.

Every night though, he lays in bed next to Scott and listen to Derek howl in misery.

People start worrying about the wolf living at the edge of town, terrified of his howls. Stiles knows it can't last. Soon, they will send hunters to chase after the beast leaving their children shuddering in fear in their bed at night, making people avoid the woods in fear of crossing path with the beast.

They don't care why Derek is there. They don't care that he's not going to hurt anyone, their minds create awful stories and soon false rumours of attack will start to spread.

Stiles hopes all day long that Derek will leave, that he will abandon him and go back deep into the forest where no one will cause him harm. But still, every nights the howl comes and Stiles is ashamed of the relief he feels at that.

Because it means Derek hasn't give up on him, that Derek still loves him. It's selfish when Stiles don't intend to give that love back, but sometimes he feels like so few people care about him that he can't help but relish the affection. 


End file.
